Training Ground
by OzGeek
Summary: Story request from Shellie Williams a long time ago. Two chapters: first about Tony going out of control and hurting McGee, the second about the benefits of training. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Training Ground**

McGee stood looking up at the boxing ring contemplating how to best to reach the small platform in his present attire. The casual observer could be forgiven for thinking he was about to umpire a baseball match covered as he was in wads of thick protective padding.

Gibbs and Tony's spontaneous laughter reverberate around the otherwise empty gymnasium as they entered. Gibbs took a second to wipe his eyes. "Get it off McGee."

"All of it?"

"It's training, McGee: You come face to face with a gang of thugs; you're not going to have time to kit up."

McGee began the long arduous task of unbuckling the enormous pads strapped to his body pausing periodically to check on Tony warming up on a punching bag. He looked happy. Happy: as in looking forward to having his revenge happy. The punching bag was looking seriously shredded.

He felt almost naked when the last protective layer peeled off to join the pile at his feet. At that precise instant, a mighty punch tore the punching bag from its chains and sent it flying across the room to thump against the wall. Tony grinned at it lying helplessly on the floor and turned expectantly to McGee.

"You wearing a cup, McGee?" Gibbs asked in his ear. "You won't have time to put in a cup."

"Ah, boss," McGee started nervously watching Tony stomp across the gym and climb into the ring. "Tony, ah, finished my book last night."

A wry smile flitted across Gibbs' lips. "Keep the cup." He raised his voice to Tony: "DiNozzo: gloves off."

A sickly psycho killer grin smeared over Tony's face and flung his gloves out of the ring. "C'mon McGee," he invited grinding his right fist into his cupped left hand.

McGee swallowed dryly and he turned pleadingly to Gibbs.

"Get in there."

McGee closed his eyes for a moment and then resolutely clambered into the ring to meet his maker. No sooner had he reached and upright position and he felt the first of Tony's punches. Just a practise jab to the stomach but it winded him slightly.

"Didn't have boxing at chess camp, Probie?" Tony taunted.

"Didn't know you managed to fit it in with all the clogging," McGee retorted rubbing his aching gut ruefully.

Tony bounced around him, ducking and weaving, jabbing with out any real intent other than to make him dizzy. "Tony can you stop, I'm getting nauseous…oooph." Tony caught him sharply in the ribs. He felt tears of pain sting his eyes but he stood tall.

"Pay attention Probie," Tony gloated, jabbing close to McGee's face.

McGee fended him off, instinctively, surprising himself as much as anyone. Tony narrowed his eyes and took it up a notch, pummelling him with punches. They came one after the other another: ribs, jaw, lip, ribs, eyebrow, cheek, stomach. Another hit to the ribs triggered a sickening pain and McGee backed off, hunching protective. Tony hunted him down and delivered a solid uppercut to the jaw slamming his lower teeth into his skull. The force of the blow forced him up to a full stand before he keeled over to land flat on his back.

He looked up dazed to see Tony spinning menacingly above him. "It's not over yet, Gemcity," he growled.

McGee forced his eyes to focus and rolled carefully away from his injured ribs onto his hands and knees where he wobbled precariously. Taking a deep breath, he heaved himself to his feet, lurched unsteadily into the ropes and rebounded to an unstable equilibrium a few feet from where Tony was poised and waiting.

"Ready," Tony challenged.

McGee nodded defiantly.

McGee sheltered behind his arms while Tony pounded him with a barrage of strokes, the image of the stricken punching bag foremost in his mind. There was the minutest of pauses in the onslaught and McGee lashed out suddenly catching Tony unaware and bringing him to his knees. The punch caused a jolt of pain to shoot through two knuckles and down a nerve to his elbow. He jammed his teeth together to hide the pain from Tony.

Tony rose to his feet slowly, disbelief plastered across his face. He levelled his gaze at McGee and then he saw it: it fell somewhere between a smirk and an all out smug smile, but somewhere in his little Probie mind, McGee thought he had outdone the master. Tony balanced himself and then let loose, years of training crafting his blows. McGee's body yielded unnaturally to his touch and it felt good. He could not hear Gibbs calling his name urgently.

He spotted an unprotected solar plexis and he drove instinctively feeling the satisfying sensation of McGee folding around his arm. He withdrew like a victorious swordsman and stepped aside to let McGee thump to the mat in a paralysed ball of pain.

He felt Gibbs pin his arms from behind. "What the hell are you doing, DiNozzo?"

"Teaching McGee, boss," he explained simply.

Gibbs released Tony's arms and spun him around. "You damn near killed him."

"What?"

But Gibbs was no longer standing in front of him, he was crouching down with McGee lying paralysed face down, bottom up on the floor. McGee's eyes held sheer terror, a look Gibbs had seen too many times before in the eyes of young men. He placed a reassuring arm across McGee's back and spoke directly to him. "You're going to be alright, McGee. It's a blow to the solar plexis. It cuts out the autonomic responses; stops the breathing and the nervous system. They'll kick in any time now."

McGee did not look convinced. Gibbs licked his lips nervously. It didn't usually take this long for the first gasping breath to reappear. He saw McGee's eyes glazing over and his lips beginning to turn blue. He swore. He was not going to loose another man; not this way.

The uncharacteristic concern on Gibbs face reinforced the emotions already alive and coursing through McGee's body. Panic rampaged through him as he realised he would never take another breath but his external body showed no signs of his concerns, frozen in premature-rigour mortis. He watched his boss' worried face fade to blackness.

There was a dreadful moment when Gibbs thought it was all over. McGee had been silent for too long. Heart pounding in his throat he found a pulse, weak but stoic. It was time to get serious: he needed to get him on his back and breathe for him.

And then it happened: McGee took a roaring gasp of air, crying out in pain as his did. He whimpered as his crushed ribs stabbed at his lungs as they greedily sucked in air.

Gibbs stroked up and down his back. "Breath, McGee, just breath."

So McGee breathed. The pain was excruciating: his face hurt, his gut ached and his chest felt as though he had been run over by a train. As the urgency of his breathing subsided, he felt Gibbs and Tony take an arm each and pull him to a shaky stand.

Tony watched in horror as McGee's face emerged. It was littered with bruises, welts and cuts. The cut above his swollen eye was weeping blood and the left side of his lip was puffy and blue. Tony's conscience recoiled in denial; he could not have possibly done that to another man. "Looking good Probie," the attempted tone was light-hearted but some trepidation leaked in. He caught a worried glance from Gibbs.

McGee managed one faltering step before the blinding pain in his chest overtook him. He paused, refusing to admit even to himself how badly he was injured. His body was vibrating uncontrollably and he could feel the tug of oblivion as the ground slithered under his feet.

Tony and Gibbs urged McGee forward carefully; he was starting to look dangerously pale. The slightly unstable wobbles descended into a violent stuttering stagger and McGee collapsed unconscious in their arms with an agony-laden groan. Together they lowered their heavy burden to the floor.

Gibbs laid a hand on McGee's unnaturally pale yellow skin; it felt cold and clammy to the touch under the involuntary quivering. Then he peeled back the sweat soaked T-shirt to reveal the undulating surface of McGee's chest horribly disfigured by swelling, sunken regions and swirls of multicolour bruises.

Tony swallowed dryly and closed his eyes to shut out the sight. When he prised them open, he met Gibbs' accusing gaze. "Sorry Boss."

Gibbs reached for his cell and swore: it was still in the change room. "Stay with him," he called as he leapt out of the ring.

Tony watched him go and then there was silence: just him and the tortured remains of the man once known as McGee lying pale and broken on the mat murmuring incomprehensively.

McGee's world was enveloped in pain. It was cold and dark and he cold hear some strange mumbling noise. Veiled light appeared and he realised belatedly that his eyes were already open. The mumbling was associated with some vibrating feeling in his throat. He stopped the noises as soon as he made the connection.Tony's concerned face materialised out of nowhere and a fear he had never known before gripped his heart. He tried to run but found he was unable to move.

"You're OK," Tony's tone was gentle and he relaxed again in his presence: the terrible madness had gone. Maybe he had just imagined it ever existed. A stab of pain in his lungs told him he had not. A tiny cough tickled at his throat but letting it out caused pain to explode across his chest. Instinctively, he reached his hand up to brace it but Tony caught his wrist.

"I wouldn't do that," his voice was tinged with regret. "Your ribs are, ah, not good." He looked down at McGee's hand and saw the injured knuckles. "Looks like you got a few good shots in yourself," he said with false admiration.

"Not as many as you," McGee replied hoarsely. He winced at the pain and saw Tony mirror the action in sympathy.

The effort required to breath was almost not worth to effort. He felt the tears sting his eyes and burn a painful trail down the side of his face. "Tony, it hurts," he said quietly.

"I know kid," Tony's voice quavered and he bit down on his lower lip. He took McGee's hand in both his own. "I'm sorry. He paused a moment. "It's just a stupid book. It's not as if anyone ever reads books."

"Never thought it would cause all this," McGee wheezed painfully.

Tony looked sharply as Gibbs returned carrying a couple of towels form the change room.

"How is he?"

"In pain."

"Here," Gibbs leaped into the ring and covered McGee's shaking form. "It's all I could find." McGee eyes started to glaze over again. "McGee!" they snapped back to clarity.

"Sorry Boss."

Gibbs tone softened, "Just hang in there, EMTs are on their way." He sat on the floor to next to Tony who was absently stroking McGee's hand. "You know I am going to have to report you," he said.

Tony did not raise his eyes from McGee: his only concern. "I know."

Gibbs felt a sense of pride in his team. NCIS could not afford to loose someone like Tony over such a silly lapse.

Tony gave McGee a mischievous conspiratorial smile and looked up at Gibbs. "Of course, if you report me, you'll have to explain why you wanted to do this little exercise in the first place."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"And you'll have to explain why you told Probie to remove all his padding even though you knew he was getting into the ring with a lethal weapon."

A little laugh escaped McGee and he grimaced in pain.

"We'll discuss it when he's better," Gibbs conceded.

McGee felt the world slipping from his grasp again and despite the faint cooing of Gibbs' voice, he faded to blackness.


	2. This time for sure

**Chapter 2 - this time for sure**

The two agents found themselves cornered by a gang of thugs in a blind alley. There was no escape, they had no weapons; it was just them and four malevolent, drunken, tattooed, severely pissed off men with a well-honed hatred of law enforcement agents.

Tony and McGee stood shoulder to shoulder sizing up their competition.

"Who would have thought we'd end up like this?" Tony grumbled.

"Gibbs."

Tony winced: he knew it was true.

"Do you remember how well we fought that day Probie?"

"Actually the day is a bit of a blank to me."

Tony paused. "Well, take it from me: you absolutely slaughtered me."

"Ahh: that would explain why I spent a week in hospital recovering while you were stood down for a month."

"Lucky punch."

"Do these guys look as mad as you were that day?"

"Worse. Ever put vicious, irrational gangs in your book?"

"All the time: you think that's a problem?"

"Do they look like they spend lot of time reading?"

The attack began.

The agents fought well that day: Gibbs would have been proud. Taking two apiece, years of training gave them a supreme advantage.

Tony had learnt a great deal of control since that fateful day. He still had the power, natural talent and technique to defeat an enemy in hand to hand combat but now all that was complimented by a rational, logical approach to the theory of battle. A cool fight was a successful fight. The young men attempting to kill him had no such focus and it was to their detriment. Tony overcame them almost effortlessly.

McGee resorted to what he knew best: wrestling. In no time he had two thugs handcuffed to a lamp post. He looked down and was both surprised and pleased: not a hair out of place, clothing fine: he'd hardly even broken a sweat. Chasing a spec of dust from his otherwise pristine jacket, he sought Tony and noted with satisfaction that the older agent had the other two malcontents handcuffed to another lamp post and was just collecting his badge which had been inadvertently knocked to the ground. He, too, was completely unruffled. Looks like all that training paid off after all.

He tapped Tony on the shoulder. "That's the last of….."

Tony heard the noise and spun, delivering the sweetest punch of his life: straight to the jaw, perfectly timed so there were no bone-jarring vibrations resonating up his arm. It was simply a work of art.

He froze in his self-congratulatory tracks: that face flying backwards towards the wall looked awfully familiar. "Oh no," he groaned. "Gibbs is going to kill me."

He flipped out his cell phone and made the essential calls.

* * *

McGee lay on the harsh bitumen road flat on his back, limbs spread widely, face slightly upturned. Blood seeped from a cut on his lip.

Tony squatted down on the road and tapped McGee cautiously on the side of his expressionless face causing his head to loll heavily sideways. Tony frowned worriedly; McGee was certainly out of it. "Probie?" he tried.

The alley seemed suddenly cold and isolated despite the four cursing thugs adorning the lamp posts. Tony took a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned the traces of blood around McGee's mouth, each gentle wipe tugging like a marionette string.

McGee moaned slightly and his eyelids fluttered open. "Tony?" he asked groggily.

Tony pocketed the handkerchief. "Hey, buddy."

"What happened?" the words were slightly slurred.

"We got attacked by a gang of thugs."

McGee closed his eyes in an exaggerated blink before refocusing on Tony's face. "I wrestled them."

Tony smiled, "Yeah that you did."

"One of them clobbered me?"

"Not exactly."

McGee gathered his wayward limbs closer together and attempted to lift onto his elbows. A surge of dizziness dragged him down again and he slumped back with a groan.

"Backup will he here any time now," Tony assured him looking up the alley.

McGee nodded woozily. "Good."

Tony panicked as he saw McGee's eyelids drooping. "No, no, no," he scolded gently. "We're staying awake now." The distant sounds of an ambulance gave him hope.

McGee blinked sleepily at him and he mumbled something nonsensical.

"That's right," Tony encouraged, willing the ambulance nearer. "Keep talking, I don't care if it's algebra."

McGee's mumbling wound down, his tone lowering as he sunk back into oblivion. A couple of contented lip smacks and he was out again despite Tony's desperate urgings.

A truck pulled up behind him and he heard the voice of doom: "What the hell happened, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, you're not going to believe this."


End file.
